


Triple Torment

by the_random_writer



Series: Triples [2]
Category: Bourne (Movies), Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux, RED (Movies), The Bourne Supremacy (2004)
Genre: Central Intelligence Agency, Crack Crossover, Crossover, Doppelganger, Gen, Snark, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 01:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5987422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Zane persuade Ty to face up to an unpalatable truth.</p><p>A crossover fic that combines Cut & Run with my <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/324236">Separated Twins</a> series, featuring William Cooper from 'RED' and Kirill from 'The Bourne Supremacy'.</p><p>Will only make sense if you have seen both movies, and know about a certain facecast for Ty Grady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triple Torment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ErisianDiva78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErisianDiva78/gifts).



Nick shifted slightly in his seat, trying to relieve the nagging cramp that threatened to engulf his thigh. Then he allowed his eyes to wander slowly around the store, taking in the various sights.

Zane stood at the main desk, a pencil jammed behind his ear, humming one of his favourite songs as he punched the details of a customer order into the store computer.

Ty Lite, otherwise known as Agent William Cooper, sat on the reading bench at the side of the bay window, frowning in concentration as he tapped out an e-mail to his wife. Probably discussing what flavour of muffins to make for the upcoming bake sale at their children's school. Or perhaps he was sharing his opinion of the colour schemes for the bathroom reno. Domesticity—such a joy.

Kelly and Ty Classic were hauling boxes into the newly constructed Cafe Corner, quietly bickering about where to put the expensive new coffee machine, and whether to shelve the bags of beans in order of size, name or intensity of flavour. Nick snorted slightly and wished Kelly luck on that one, knowing all too well how single-minded Ty could be when it came to matters of storage and organization. The tiny, chattering, compulsive squirrels which lived inside and ran the grey lump Grady called a brain would, as always, develop the perfect solution; something slightly insane but also extremely efficient, something only Ty would ever truly understand. And he didn't even drink the damn stuff.

Nick himself was perched up on a wide ledge, his legs dangling several feet above the floor, sipping on a bottle of soda and grazing on a bowl of chips. Jiminy lay curled up in a shallow cardboard box beside him, purring like a furry tractor, gratefully accepting whatever chin scritches and belly rubs his Second Favourite Human happened to throw his way.

Ty Dark, otherwise known as Agent Kirill Orlov, sat in a comfortable wingback chair at the other side of the room, one hand curled around what was supposed to be a glass of water, the other hand slowly and softly stroking Cricket, who lay sprawled across the Russian's lap in a state approaching feline nirvana. Between the chair, the cat, the attached earlobes and the aura of sneering superiority, he looked like a modern day version of Ernst Stavro Blofeld, minus the facial scars and the plan to take over the world. Although, he probably kept the blueprints for a villainous lair at the bottom of a fake volcano tucked safely between his balls.

Nick could feel the Russian's eyes on him and knew Orlov was watching his every move. But instead of meeting the other man's gaze, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall, taking a moment to quietly and calmly gather his thoughts.

Jesus, Mary and fucking Joseph. What a shit-show of a visit this was turning out to be. And the worst of it was that he only had himself to blame. Nobody had tricked him into coming to Baltimore, and he couldn't claim he hadn't been warned. On the contrary, Zane had made it abundantly clear during the course of their Chat conversation that the situation wasn't good. So he could have avoided this whole ridiculous state of affairs if he'd heeded the other man's advice and stayed in Boston on his boat.

He cast his mind back to the night before, to the moment when he and Kelly had finally arrived at the house.

Kelly, of course, had taken the various introductions completely and totally in his stride. He'd taken one look at each of The Three Amigos in turn, given his shoulders their best 'fuck it man, whatever' shrug, then hugged Ty, shaken Cooper by the hand and slapped Orlov amiably on the back as if the two of them were already the best of friends. Either he hadn't thought the uncanny resemblance worth commenting on, or more likely, he'd taken Zane's advice to heart and had decided for the sake of both friendship and world peace that if discretion was the better part of valour, then cowardice was indeed the better part of discretion.

Smart boy, that Kelly. A man who _always_ knew where his towel was.

But Kelly hadn't spent almost twenty years of his life secretly in love with Ty Grady. And now there were three versions of the man to deal with, in a range of physical, emotional and sartorial states. Nick had taken one look at the Tantalizing Trinity of Tyler, the Beguiling Buffet of Beaumont, the Complete Cornucopia of Cock, and hadn't known whether to laugh like a hyena on crack or put concrete weights in all of his pockets and quietly throw himself into the sea.

If there was a God, the bastard had a really terrible sense of humour.

Nick had very quickly realized that Cooper wouldn't be a problem. Very much a company man, just as Zane had described (and apparently a three time winner of the CIA award for Best Dressed Agent), but also a highly capable ex-marine who loved his country, his wife and his kids in equal measure, and in Nick's books, that made him a solid, reliable, decent guy. He was Ty in a Dodge Grand Caravan and a beautifully polished pair of Salvatore Ferragamos. It was hard not to like the man, even if he did have preposterously cute hair.

Unfortunately, Nick couldn't say the same for Orlov, Cooper's younger, identical twin brother. Or Crazy Ivan, as everyone now called him, although never to his face. Nobody—not even his older sibling—knew if he would take the nickname in good humour or threaten to strangle all of them in their sleep. He was Ty in a buzzcut and a leather longcoat, but instead of compulsive squirrels, his brain appeared to be running on petty, vicious, psychotic ferrets. He was _definitely_ the Evil Twin.

And also one of the two reasons why Nick was so far having such a disagreeable day. He would sooner shoot himself in the foot than admit it, but something about the ex-FSB agent made him extremely tense.

He hadn't expected to like the man. Boston was home to a sizeable Russian population, and he'd learned at a very early age that red and green didn't mix. His father had hated them with a burning passion. Different culture, different language, different alphabet, different religion, even a different goddamn day for Christmas. That had probably offended Brian the most. His old man hadn't much cared for his Italian or Polish neighbours either, but at least they were Catholics who celebrated Christmas at the end of December.

Nick was also having some problems with Orlov's former occupation. The Zanewinder guys had all killed a lot of people over the years, but most of their targets had more than deserved their grisly fates. Orlov, on the other hand, was a man who'd once been willing to murder at the drop of a hat, for nothing more honourable than a suitcase full of cold, hard cash. He didn't know if Kirill and Liam would get along like a house on fire, or immediately try to cut each other's throats. He'd briefly considered introducing them to each other, just for the shits and giggles of finding out.

It didn't help that Orlov had somehow picked up on his apprehension, and had been playing it up for most of the day; sitting next to him at breakfast, brushing into him as they passed in the hall, almost but not quite following him around the store, watching his every move. This was either the Russian's peculiar way of making friends, or he was playing a mind game of Cold War proportions. Neither answer was particularly appealing.

Unfortunately, Crazy Ivan wasn't Nick's only problem.

There was also the fact that his oldest and closest friend was slowly sailing the USS Denial across the Lake of Nope. On the matter of the uncanny resemblance, Ty was so far down the river in Egypt, he was almost into Sudan. Zane had asked them not to force the situation, sensing there was more than simple intransigence behind his husband's behaviour. He thought it would be better for everyone involved if they allowed Ty to abandon ship in his own time, instead of pushing him off the back of the boat. A nice plan in theory, and one that Kelly seemed more than happy to go along with, but that was driving Nick _absolutely fucking nuts_.

This had been the whole, goddamn point of the visit; to spend a few days lovingly ripping the crap out of Ty about the sudden discovery of two long-lost Grady brothers. And now he had to sit here, keep quiet and politely pretend there was absolutely nothing going on? Where the hell was the fun in _that_? Nick reckoned he could play nice for maybe another hour before he developed the urge to put Ty in a Half Nelson and knuckle rub his head until he acknowledged the truth.

He sighed loudly and opened his eyes, only to discover he was still firmly in Crazy Ivan's sights. Fuck this shit, and fuck waiting another hour. He wanted to relax and enjoy his Saturday night, which meant putting his frustrations to bed. He couldn't solve his issues with Orlov, but he could certainly solve his issues with Ty.

He pulled out his phone and opened a new message to Zane to send him a heads up.

_Sorry, bud. Can't do this any longer. Gonna kick Ty off the boat. Have a towel ready._

Zane glanced at his phone, read the message, muttered something crude in Spanish, then shot Nick a disgusted look. A look that said 'please do not do this' and 'I will kick your Irish ass' in more or less equal measure.

Nick shrugged slightly and flashed Zane an apologetic grin. He would make it up to the man later.

He slammed his soda down on the shelf, causing Jiminy to jump and everyone in the room to turn towards him.

"You okay there, Irish?" Ty enquired.

"No, Ty. I'm not okay."

"What's up?"

"We need to talk."

"Oh yeah? About what?"

"About the elephant in the room," Nick explained. "The one with three heads."

Cooper let out a quiet sigh and put his phone back in his pocket. Orlov grinned at his older brother, sensing the fun was about to begin.

"The fuck are you talking about?" Ty demanded.

"The elephant, Ty. The one the rest of us can all see as plain as day, but for some reason, you're completely ignoring."

"Irish, I honestly have no idea what you mean," Ty said, scrunching his face in confusion. "Seriously, man. You're beginning to scare me."

Kelly placed the box he was holding carefully down on the floor, then slowly started backing out of the Cafe Corner towards the safety of the main desk. An excellent strategy, in Nick's opinion. If he and Ty were about to start throwing their poop around, Kelly could use Zane as a protective shield. Make good use of the man's impressive height and width.

Nick sighed again, trying to contain his exasperation, then gracefully jumped down from the shelf.

"I'm talking about the fact that you and him and him," he said, pointing at Ty, Orlov and Cooper in turn, "all look as if you were cloned from the same pod."

"Jesus Christ, Nick, not you as well," Ty muttered.

"What the hell do you mean, not me as well?"

"I had an hour of this crap from Clancy's team on Wednesday morning. Couldn't get them to shut the fuck up about it until I threatened to shoot someone. Was like they'd all lost their goddamn minds."

"Beaumont, the only person who's lost their goddamn mind here is you."

"Bullshit!"

"Grady, it's time to man up and abandon ship."

"What ship?"

"The ship on the river in Egypt."

"So now you're telling me I'm in denial," Ty complained.

"Ty, you know we all fucking love you, but you are balls deep in denial."

" _I_ do not love him," Orlov murmured in an offended tone. "Am not sure if I even _like_ him yet."

Ty growled and wheeled on the Russian, ready to put the man in his place, but Agent Cooper beat him to it, barking something at his brother in terse, efficient, guttural German. Nick didn't need to speak the language to know Orlov had just been very firmly told to keep his opinions to himself.

"So what does everyone else think about this?" Ty asked, looking around the room.

His eyes fell on Kelly first.

"Doc, c'mon man," he coaxed. "Tell me you don't agree with Nick?"

"Actually, yeah, I do. Three of you all look like brothers."

Ty blew out a frustrated sigh, flapped a dismissive hand at his friend and turned his attention to Zane.

"Lone Star, back me up here, please?" he pleaded, looking like a wounded puppy.

Zane took off his reading glasses and gently rubbed the bridge of his nose, wondering what the hell to say. He didn't want to lie to his husband, but he didn't want to sleep in the garage for the next month either.

No more secrets and lies. Honesty was the best policy. And he could always borrow Clancy's heated, inflatable bed.

"There is a really strong resemblance, doll. You can't deny it," he said calmly.

Nick let out an indignant snort. Sure he could. Or they wouldn't even be having this conversation.

Ty shot Nick a murderous glare.

"I'm not listening to any of this crap," he said, folding his arms tightly across his chest, making it extremely clear he had no intention of budging his opinion so much as an inch. "I know what I think, and you can all go fuck yourselves."

"It is okay, Tyler," Orlov chimed in softly from his chair. "I do not think the two of us look alike either."

Ty huffed and bounced lightly on his heels, obviously trying to decide if he even wanted or needed the Russian's support.

"As much as it literally pains me to say this, thank you, Kirill," he eventually replied, in his politest and most proper voice.

"You are very welcome, Tyler," Orlov acknowledged with a nod of his head.

Three against two, and all eyes turned to William Cooper, who had a look on his face of a man about to be guillotined by an angry mob. But Orlov apparently wasn't done.

"Of course, you do look extremely like William," he casually added.

Ty turned back to the troublesome Russian and speared him with an incredulous stare.

"But you and William are identical fucking twins," he protested. "How the hell can I look extremely like him, but _not_ look like you?"

"It is because I am very toned and lean, while you and William are both... big-boned," Orlov explained. "Or whatever word you Americans prefer to use to describe your much fuller figures."

"Orlov, did you just call me fat?" Ty asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

"No, Tyler. Of course not. I do not think you are fat."

"Okay, good. I think."

"Comfortably padded, perhaps. But not fat."

"Comfortably padded?" Ty repeated. "What the fuck does that even mean?"

"Ignore him, Grady," Cooper said, sounding bored. "He's been pulling the same bullshit on me for the last ten months. He's just trying to get into your head. It's all that FSB training kicking in, and I don't think he even realizes he's doing it. If you keep quiet, he'll eventually give up and go pick on someone else instead."

Orlov tutted and shook his head. "Do not listen to William, Tyler," he warned. "He can believe what he wants, but I know how much of his wife's chocolate cake he eats when he thinks nobody is looking. Is like watching a whale in a three piece suit suck up chocolate flavoured plankton. Is no wonder he has to go to the gym so much."

Cooper narrowed his eyes at his twin, but sensibly took his own advice and declined to grace the comments with a response.

"Is it the same for you, Tyler?" Orlov enquired, flashing his brother a semi-apologetic grin. "You have no little woman at home to bake nice cookies for you, but are you perhaps too fond of mother's apple pie?"

"Fuck you, Ivan. I am _not_ fat. And leave my mom's apple pie out of this," Ty warned.

Nick groaned and patted his stomach. "Oh, man, yeah. She makes these _amazing_ apple pies. If your mom cooked as well as Ty's, you'd be big-boned as well, Orlov. Trust me," he said, his mouth watering at the mere mention of Mara Grady's baking.

Ty glared at Nick as if his friend had just taken his dick out and offered to rub it in Cooper's face.

"Irish?"

"Yeah?"

"If you're gonna talk, could you maybe say something that actually helps?" he suggested in a quietly offended tone.

He returned to his argument with the former assassin.

"And who the fuck are you to criticize another person's weight, anyway? You're so fucking skinny, you look like you would blow away in a mild breeze. I'd rather be comfortably padded than have an ass like yours that's so... so..." he trailed off, momentarily lost for words, then wrinkled his nose in disgust.

" _Magnificent_ , Tyler," Orlov prompted. "The word you are searching for and completely failing to find is _magnificent_."

"Ivan, the only magnificent thing here is the beating I'm about to give you."

"Tyler, you could not give me a good beating even if I was your own cock."

Ty growled and clenched his fists.

Orlov raised a hand to hold him back.

"But there are other areas where we are not alike," he added.

"Lemme guess. This is where you insult my intelligence as well, right?" Ty asked.

"Not at all. You are actually quite intelligent, all things considered. I was simply going to point out that I also have much cuter hair."

"I'm sorry. Come again? You think you have cuter hair?"

"I do not think, Tyler. I _know_."

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no," Ty said, vigorously shaking his head. "William here, _he_ has cute hair. In fact, his hair is so fucking cute, if you look in the dictionary, under the entry for the word cute, there's a picture of his fucking hair! Your hair makes you look as if you're an hour away from being burned as a witch."

Nick snorted. But did he weigh as much as a duck?

"Would rather be burned as a witch than have your hair," Orlov shot back. "Is a crime against hairmanity. The cut does not follow your natural parting. Your left sideburn is slightly thicker than your right. It is a centimetre too long on the top. And you use far too much gel."

"I do not use too much gel."

"Tyler, you use more gel than an entire high school cheerleading squad. Is fucking ridiculous. Would rather go out with a paper bag over my head than have hair that looks like yours."

"I'll put a bag over your head any day, comrade," Ty warned, "but it won't be made out of fucking paper. Besides," he added, running his fingers protectively through his locks. "I like my hair to have some lift."

Orlov huffed and rolled his eyes. "Really, Tyler. It is your hair, not a nice pair of tits," he scolded. "Although, would almost rather you had a nice pair of tits. Would at least give me something more pleasant to look at than your miserable, stupid face."

"Do us all a favour, Ivan, and just go kill yourself, yeah?"

"Am already legally dead. Do not think I can die again."

"You want me to test that theory for you?"

"Thank you, but no."

"I promise I'll make it quick. You won't feel a thing."

"Again, I must decline."

"Pity."

"Am quite sure you can handle the disappointment. Must happen to you all the time."

"You know what I'm really disappointed about right now?"

"What is that?"

"That my beautiful baby girl has such terrible fucking taste in people," Ty replied, waving a hand at Cricket, who was still slumbering in the Russian's lap.

Jiminy chose that very moment to jump on the counter and let out a loud meow, as if endorsing his Favourite Human's views.

"Do not take it personally, Tyler. She is female. She cannot help but love me," Kirill said with an unctuous grin.

Cooper grunted and rolled his eyes.

Kelly waved his hand to attract everyone's attention. "I have a question," he said.

"Something wrong, babe?" Nick asked.

"Does anyone else suddenly feel like they want popcorn, or is it just me?" Kelly asked, a look of pure innocence plastered across his face.

Nick snickered, earning him another one of Ty's murderous glares.

Zane took advantage of the pause in the proceedings to add some reason to the debate. Kelly was right. The verbal sparring was fun to watch (up to a certain point), but they should probably nip it in the bud before it escalated into violence. Given the kind of special training Ty and Kirill had both received, any fight was likely to end with more than a bloody nose. Cooper had told him that some of the guys at Langley were running a pool on when it would finally happen, and who would then come out on top. He wasn't going to give any of the assholes the satisfaction of being right.

"There's really nothing to freak out about, doll," he said, steering them back to Nick's original topic of conversation. "I read a bunch of articles on the Internet last night, about people who've found their doppelgangers, and it was really interesting. Most of them only look reasonably similar, but some of them, you'd honestly think they were identical twins. The problem here is that your doppelganger happens to be someone who already has an identical twin."

"So I have two doppelgangers. Great," Ty muttered, obviously not impressed.

"I guess you could even call them your trippelgangers," Zane added, smiling at his own joke.

Ty wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Zane?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you just try to make this into a pun? In _German_?"

Zane sighed and resisted the urge to throttle his husband with his bare hands. He loved Ty Grady like no other living thing in the world, but sometimes, the man could be as mulish as a bag of disgruntled cats.

"Doesn't work," Cooper chimed in from the bench.

"What doesn't work?" Ty asked.

"The pun," Cooper explained. "The German word for triple is 'dreifach'. So would have to be something like 'dreifachganger'."

"Pretty sure you can get a lotion for that," Kelly said, to nobody in particular.

"Okay, forget the pun," Zane replied through slightly gritted teeth. "But my point still stands. It's a very well documented phenomenon, with a perfectly logical explanation."

"Thank you, Mister Spock," Ty retorted. "And what if I don't like the logical explanation?"

"What the hell else do you want me to say?" Zane asked, his patience beginning to wear. "What's more believable? Do you _actually_ think the three of you were triplets, but for some reason, mom only wanted two babies, so gave one of you up for adoption? Or maybe you're all the product of some secret Illuminati cloning experiment, and the reason you're all so good at killing people is that they programmed it into your DNA."

"Well, that's just silly, Zane," Ty huffed.

"Really? And what could _possibly_ make you think that?" Zane enquired drily.

"Well, for a start, we'd all have to be exactly the same age."

Ty turned to Cooper and Orlov. "When were you guys born?" he asked.

"Nineteen seventy-four," they replied in perfect unison.

Zane swore in Spanish under his breath. The same year as Ty. This was making things worse, not better.

"But when in nineteen seventy-four?" Ty asked impatiently. "What's your actual date of birth?"

"May twenty-fourth," Cooper said. "A Friday."

"Explains why I am so loving and giving," Orlov commented with a smirk.

"I thought Friday worked hard for a living," Kelly said, frowning slightly.

"Depends on who you ask, babe," Nick explained. "Don't think there's a definitive version."

Ty waited for the chatter to fade.

"We're okay then, because I wasn't born until May twenty-seventh," he told them.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

"But it would have taken two or three days to secretly move a baby from West Germany to the United States in the seventies, yes?" Orlov proposed, looking around the room.

Zane rubbed his face with his hands and tried not to think about the gun sitting at the back of the till. If only because he couldn't decide which of Orlov's body parts he wanted to shoot a hole in first.

"Jesus Christ, Orlov. You're not seriously suggesting I'm your brother, and was stolen from a hospital in West Berlin, then smuggled to the US and given to my parents?" Ty asked incredulously.

Orlov shrugged nonchalantly.

"I am not suggesting anything, Tyler. I am merely pointing out what is theoretically viable within the established parameters of the situation."

Nick snorted. That was a fancy, Russian way of saying 'making shit up out of thin air just to fuck you in the head'.

"But it would also have taken a few days to finalize an international adoption," the Russian continued, leaning in to give the giant, steaming bowl of shit another vigorous stir. "So perhaps the simplest explanation makes the most sense, and your mother simply did not want you."

This particular round of stirring was obviously too much for Cooper.

"Kir, for once in your miserable, wretched life, can you _please_ just shut your fucking mouth?" he asked, sounding calmer than he looked.

"But Viko, I have so much more fun with it when it is open."

Kirill turned his attention back to Ty.

"Should not feel too bad about this, Tyler. My mother did not want me either," he confided solemnly.

Cooper pinched the bridge of his nose.

"For Christ's sake, Kir, we talked about this," he wearily reminded his twin. "You know what really happened, and you know that's not true."

"I don't believe I know any such thing," was the Russian's disobliging response.

"Sorry, but what the hell are you guys talking about?" Kelly asked.

"During the divorce, each parent kept one child," Orlov explained. "Mother chose first, and chose William instead of me."

"Smart woman," Ty spat. "If you were my son, I wouldn't fucking want you either. I'd give you to the fucking circus. Or maybe to medical science."

Orlov gave another shrug.

"At least she kept me until I was eight. She apparently gave you away at birth. Must have taken one look at you and realized what an idiot you would turn out to be."

"You just love that smart fucking mouth of yours, don't you, _Kir_?"

"Ten minutes, _Beaumont_ , and I promise you will love it just as much," Orlov replied with a lecherous grin.

The Russian's face fell into a confused frown.

"And what kind of name is Beaumont, anyway? Are you a CIA agent or a rent boy from the Bois de Boulogne?"

Cooper saw Ty tense and immediately moved to stand between the ex-marine and his younger brother.

"I think we've all had enough of this crap for one day. You," he said, poking Ty firmly in the chest, "need to shut your mouth and let it go. He's trying to get into your head, and you should know better. You made Recon, for Christ's sake. This kind of psychological bullshit should be a walk in the park for you. And you," he said, pointing at his delinquent twin, "need to stop being such a manipulative fucking asshole and learn how to play nice."

"Play nice. Says man who once locked me in a dog pen for two hours," Orlov muttered darkly.

Nick snorted at the image. "Back when you were kids in West Berlin, right?" he asked.

"Actually, no," Cooper explained. "This was two weeks ago."

Nick frowned, trying to imagine how any man, even someone as capable as William Cooper, had managed to put Crazy Ivan in a cage.

"It's a long story," Cooper said.

Nick raised a questioning brow.

Cooper sighed.

"He made a _very_ inappropriate comment about my wife's best friend. I figured if he was going to behave like an animal, I should treat him like one. So I locked him in the dog pen until he apologized. Which he eventually did, after two hours."

Nick nodded in silent approval and permanently added Cooper's name to the list of people he really liked.

Then he had a horrible thought.

"Jesus, Cooper, please tell me you don't use the dog pen to punish your kids?" he exclaimed.

"What? Of course not! My kids are better behaved than that. My _dog_ is better behaved than that. It's why the dog pen was fucking empty."

"Dog pen was fucking horrible," Orlov complained. "Came out smelling of piss and shit."

"Don't think that was the dog pen," Ty muttered.

"Blow me, Grady," Orlov spat.

"I'd rather blow the Pope," Ty retorted.

"Hey! Nobody disses the Pope," Cooper warned.

Nick grinned and mentally ticked another 'good guy' box. It was just as well Cooper was so happily married, or he'd be trying to set the man up with one of his younger sisters.

Zane stepped out from behind the till, both hands up in a gesture of peace, as eager as Cooper to draw a line under the day's outlandish proceedings.

"How about we all agree there's an amazing resemblance between the two of you and Ty, but it's just a coincidence, and leave it at that?" he said.

"You could always go for a DNA test to find out for sure," Kelly suggested.

Zane took a deep breath and silently counted to five. It was like playing whack-a-mole, but with idiots instead of moles. Every time one of them stopped talking, another one opened his fucking mouth.

"Oh, Doctor Kelly, no," Kirill protested. "This is such a terrible idea."

Zane relaxed slightly. Maybe Orlov was finally approaching a rare moment of sympathy and common sense.

"You would know the truth for sure," the Russian continued, "but what if it was the wrong truth?"

Zane groaned inside his head. Then again, maybe not.

"What if the test showed that we are indeed related? Would have to accept that your whole life has been nothing but a web of lies."

Zane groaned out loud. Not a fucking chance.

But he wasn't the only person in the room who'd had enough of Kirill's mental war. Cooper loomed ominously over his twin and raised a finger to tell him off.

"Not another word out of you," he warned. "I mean it. Or I call McNamara, and we put you on the next plane back to Moscow. See how smart you feel when you're rotting in a basement cell in Lefortovo."

Orlov shot his brother a hateful glare.

"Would still be smarter than Grady," he grumbled quietly. "Man is so fucking stupid, he has not even noticed the bugs."

Cooper reached out and smacked his obstreperous sibling soundly on the side of the head. "What part of 'not another word' does that vodka-soaked brain of yours _not_ understand?"

"Wait a fucking minute," Ty said, looking from one identical twin to the other. "What bugs?"

Kirill said nothing, but simply took another sip of his drink and went back to scratching Cricket's chin, conveniently choosing the perfect moment to finally run out of advice.

"Dammit, Cooper, do we have bugs?" Ty rightly demanded to know.

Cooper shook his head. "Relax, Grady. He's talking out of his ass again. There are no bugs anywhere in the store. Trust me. I did a full sweep of the place when I got here."

Kirill snorted disdainfully into his glass.

Ty narrowed his eyes at the Russian, muttered something under his breath, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned to walk to the back of the store.

"Where the hell are you going?" Zane called out after him.

"To look up my birth certificate," Ty hollered back. "And to call my mom."

He reappeared about ten minutes later, looking nervous and slightly ashamed.

"Everything okay, Six?" Nick asked.

Ty frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. "More or less," he said.

"What's not okay?" Zane enquired, suddenly feeling slightly concerned.

"I didn't want to come straight out and ask my mom if I was definitely her biological son," Ty started, "because y'all know how well _that_ would have gone down."

Zane gave a quiet snort. Knowing Mara Grady as well as he did, like the proverbial lead balloon.

"So I came at it from the side, and asked her if she's ever been to Berlin," Ty continued.

"And?" Cooper prompted.

"She said 'only the Berlin in West Virginia', which has a population of about six people and a dog. So we can obviously forget _that_ theory."

"Seems fair to me," Kelly said.

"So then I asked her if she's ever met anyone from Moscow," Ty went on.

"And?" from Orlov this time.

"She told me all about some cousin of hers who moved to Idaho twelve years ago," Ty explained with a roll of his eyes. "So I guess we can forget _that_ theory as well."

Zane let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. There was finally some rational light at the end of this ridiculous tunnel.

"So we're all good, then?" he concluded, gently clapping his hands together. "We can all agree you're _not_ related, go out for dinner tonight and have some fun at the paintball range tomorrow?"

Ty emitted a pained noise somewhere between a grunt and a squeal, then leaned his head to one side and gave his husband a doleful look, like a dog caught peeing on the living room floor.

Zane's innards churned in fear. He knew that look, only too well. Ty had just done something _very_ wrong.

"Ty?" he whispered. "What the fuck did you do?"

"I swear to God, Zane, it wasn't my fault," Ty protested.

"Stop waffling, Beaumont," Nick demanded. "Get to the point."

"My mom got really worried when I wouldn't tell her why I was asking her all these weird questions," Ty revealed. "And now she thinks there's something wrong."

He huffed quietly, stared at his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets, obviously extremely embarrassed by this latest turn of events.

"So she's coming up to see us," he finally confessed. "She'll be here around dinner-time on Monday night."

Zane let out a tortured groan and buried his head in his hands.

"Jesus Christ, Ty."

" _Bozhe moi_."

"Bad move, Grady."

"Is she bringing one of her apple pies?"


End file.
